Those Who Are Gone: A Novel (Raquel Laing) - Hardcover

King, Laurie R.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593874013 ISBN 13: 9780593874011

Publisher: Bantam, 2026

Synopsis

Cold-case detective Raquel Laing faces new threats and long-buried secrets in this gripping novel from the New York Times bestselling author of the Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes series.

SFPD Homicide Inspector Raquel Laing had what might politely be termed a “difficult childhood,” until she was taken in by a loving family at the age of nine. She still lives with her adoptive sister, Dee, an online investigator for organizations all over the world. 

Trouble arrives with an all-too-common case for Inspector Laing: the homicide of a drug dealer in a deserted corner of San Francisco. But the everyday rapidly spirals into complications—just as a simple search into the family’s ancestry is throwing Dee into her own world of turmoil.

Raquel’s case blows up far too close to home, thanks in part to the illicit shortcuts she took in the investigation, and while her unique skills are too valuable for the SFPD to suspend her entirely, she is removed from Homicide and put onto the Cold Case Unit.

On the one hand, Cold Case lets her work with her friend and mentor, Al Hawkin. On the other, it leaves her free to look at some disturbing facts about her past—and at the devastating news that Dee has uncovered in her own search for the truth.

Cold cases heat up, the distant past intrudes, and two sisters begin to suspect that they are tied together in ways they never imagined—ways that threaten attention from a powerful and vicious international cartel.

Because the truth is, those who are gone . . . have never truly left.

About this title

About the Author

Laurie R. King is the award-winning, bestselling author of both historical and contemporary mysteries. SFPD cold-case Inspector Raquel Laing joins the Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes mysteries, the contemporary Kate Martinelli series, the historical Stuyvesant and Grey stories, and five acclaimed standalone novels. She lives in Northern California, where she is at work on her next Russell and Holmes mystery.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Now

The two women sat across from each other at the old kitchen table, looking down at the gold star. Seven gleaming points around blue enamel words. inspector, it said. S. F. police. The badge was remarkably unblemished, all things considered.

“So, they talked you back in.” There was not a lot of enthusiasm in Dee’s voice.

“Looks like.” There was even less in Raquel’s. “Consulting at first. Active duty later.”

“I thought the Department didn’t hire consultants.”

“Contractor, then. Like you. They hire contractors if there’s good reason.”

“And you’re a good reason.”

“I guess? And we could use the salary.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Rock, do you have any idea how many jobs I turn down? You could earn multiples of what the Department pays and still have time to get your own business going.”

“I know. But . . .”

“But?”

“Dee, I’ve begun to suspect that going private would require more . . . people skills than I’m comfortable with.”

“So let someone else be your public face. What about Jen? She’d be great.”

“You think I should ask a woman I’ve known less than three months to quit a job she loves and come run a nonexistent private investigation business? Anyway, the Department would give me full benefits.”

“Health insurance will be a great comfort the next time some idiot shoots you.”

“Dee, come on, that was—”

“My fault as much as yours. More, maybe.” Dee had claimed guilt a dozen times since things blew up eight months ago, and a dozen times Raquel had rejected the claim. It was an argument they were both tired of.

Raquel picked up the badge, rubbing her thumb across the raised number at the center. Her number. The same gold star she’d been given on promotion to Homicide, six years before. The Department had also given her back her sidearm—and she felt even more ambivalent about that.

“So, when do you start ‘consulting’?” Dee asked.

Raquel put the badge down, unconsciously adjusting it so the embossed number ran parallel to the table’s edge.

“Probably next week. But I want to pass the agility run before I go back into active duty. The doctor said he’d sign off on me, but I need to prove that I can handle the physical demands.”

“Prove to whom?”

“Anyone who’s going to risk partnering with me. I’ll set up a practice physical next week.”

“I still think it’s ridiculous that someone your size takes the same test as a six-foot-four man. You’re not much taller than the wall you have to climb over.”

“And a six-four man has a handicap when it comes to sit-ups and push-ups, so the scores balance out.”

“You think your leg will do it?”

“I haven’t used the cane in a week.” She picked up a wooden promotional token from the little grocery co-op—Rory must have brought some shopping by—and started fiddling with it, walking it up and down the backs of her fingers.

Being focused on the token, she did not see her sister’s raised eyebrow, but she could imagine Dee’s unvoiced remark—something along the line of: Maybe so, but you’re still limping. But all Dee said was, “Until then, you’ll be working with Al again?”

“I’m going to suggest that I do both. I’ll be available to the Homicide Detail, though at first mostly working with Al.”

Al Hawkin, renowned for having the best clearance rate of the SFPD Homicide Detail, had been Raquel’s mentor since her rookie days. Semi-retirement had moved Al from active duty into the Cold Case Unit—where he continued to rack up clearances, but where the budget would not cover Raquel going full-time. She had spent the last few months working Cold Case, during a leave that was only partly medical, but now that she had been cleared of wrongdoing—or, she suspected, now that Al had convinced their superiors that Inspector Laing had learned her lesson and that any sins she might have committed were more than offset by her unique investigative skills—she was looking at being on the active roster again.

With mixed feelings.

She liked working alone. She’d found it a relief, not having to consider every minor interaction with colleagues, being away from the noise and distraction of the station, coming back to find things on her desk precisely where she’d left them. Not having to explain her every move to people who seemed to enjoy being either ignorant or blind. She did best when she was working alone, at her own speed, without having to second-guess herself or wait for colleagues to catch up. And she enjoyed the freedom—no, admit it: she relished setting her own hours and making up her own rules. Going private offered the thrill of the chase unimpeded by the endless rules of search and seizure, Miranda rights, and the ever-looming presence of Internal Affairs.

All of that she’d enjoyed, working with Dee. But in the weeks since the Gardener case had ended, when she’d handed over that badge on the table and the SIG Sauer that went with it, she’d reluctantly become aware that she didn’t really like working for Dee. Her sister’s investigations were either international and far-flung—ironic, for a woman who never left the house—or they were local and tedious beyond belief. She found it depressing, the number of millionaires eager to throw money at someone with Dee’s reputation for a simple case of corporate spying or a cheating wife. Like hiring a neurosurgeon to bandage a playground scrape. And if Raquel went through with her PI license, that would be the scope of her daily business.

When it came to homicide, the closest a licensed PI could get to an active investigation was as some kind of support staff. But homicide, as the past weeks with Dee had driven home, was the crime, the only one that really mattered. Solving murders was, simply speaking, a job worthy of Raquel Laing’s abilities. A failed murder investigation, allowed to go cold and unsolved, was a nagging blot on the face of justice. She put down the token, its words in parallel to the numbers on the badge, and looked at her sister—then frowned. “

Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dee said. “Why? Do I look sick?”

“You look pale. Distracted.”

“My mind’s on that thing in Ukraine I’ve been working on. And I always look pale.”

“You didn’t when we first met.”

Dee gave a cough of laughter. “Rock, when we first met, I was a teenager who ran track every afternoon. I was as brown as a farmworker.”

“You need vitamin D. You should spend more time in the garden.”

“If it makes you happy, I’ll take my lunch outside.” Dee’s brain allowed her to interpret the house’s fenced back garden as safely “in,” while the street outside, even the front steps, were threateningly “out.”

“Thank you. And pull some weeds while you’re out there.”

“Ah. So, self-interest rather than sympathy.”

“You know me, Dee. I’m all about the hidden motives.”

Edition details

• Publisher: Bantam
• Publication date: 2026
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0593874013
• ISBN 13: 9780593874011
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 336